I'm Not That Girl
by Sarcism
Summary: Alistair-break-up-after-he-becomes-king-the-insertprofanity scene adapted after 'I'm Not That Girl' in Wicked. Minor change in lyrics. Not really a song-fic. SLASH M!Amell/Alistair. One-sidedCullen/M!Amell. Minor swearing. R&R please.


So I was listening to this song one day and it struck me that it was perfect for the break-up scene. I tweaked the lyrics at the end(only one word) to suit the plot, so PURISTS PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! The change is very minor, I swear!

I really wanted to make this applicable for both genders, but it is EXTREMELY hard to write without using 'her' or 'him'. And since there are already so many F!Amell stories, I decided to make this M!Amell. And yes, I treat Amell as the first name because I wanted a name everybody would accept as 'canon'. Plus Amell sounds so much better than Daylen.

Disclaimer: If I owned DA:O, everyone(especially Alistair yum yum) would be bi. Alas, he's not. I don't own Wicked either. The only thing I own is my imagination.

Pairing: M!Amell/Alistair(somewhat) therefore SLASH SLASH WARNING SLASH SLASH SLASH

Warning: SLASH SLASH SLASH SLASH SLASH! And maybe failed angst. I dunno.

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Amell didn't believe in fairytales. They were something mothers told to children to keep them in line, with varying success. They were something weak-minded people believed in because reality was too harsh for them. Whenever his fellow mages at the tower gushed about their Knights in Shining Armour or Damsels in Distress, he would always scoff and withdraw from the discussion. As mages, the sooner they realised that nobody wanted them, that they were close to the scum of the earth, the better. Better to accept the bitter truth than to delude oneself with dreams that would never come true, right? That was what he kept telling himself every single day at the tower, even if on occasion when he was sure nobody knew what he was up to(even Cullen. He saw that Templar _everywhere_ for some reason), he would steal to the library and busy himself with reading through several romance books at the fastest pace possible. He could remember every honey-coated word. And he would sooner die than admit that, sometimes, he would sigh wistfully and wish for a royal knight in shining armour to take him away as well.

Then he joined the Grey Wardens and somewhere along the journey, he developed a crush on a certain Ex-Templar. That was when he thought that, maybe, fairytales weren't so bad after all. Maybe it wasn't something only meant for children or idealistic fools. He thought that maybe the Knight in Shining Armour bit wasn't cliché at all. And when Alistair finally admitted he felt the same way about him, Amell was overjoyed. Nothing in the world could have taken that moment away from him.

Wynne, with all her grandmotherly wisdom, noticed their growing relationship and confronted Amell, saying that Love is ultimately selfish, demanding the attention of one at the exclusion of all others. He could still hear her voice berating him on how a Grey Warden must always put Duty above all else, even at the cost of one's own heart. He rebuffed her then, saying he was a human with emotions too. She could only smile sadly at him. She was right, of course, and Amell knew that. She always was. He knew it wouldn't last, but that didn't make it any easier to take when _it_ finally happened.

"Amell... We need to talk."

And somewhere in the back of his head, where Amell had filed away the romance novels he had read and secretly cherished, he recognised the dreaded phrase and knew what was coming next.

"Yes, Alistair?" Amell winced at his own voice, almost breaking and struggling to remain steady.

"I don't know why you made me King, even when I told you I never wanted this. But now that I'm King, I have responsibilities." said Alistair, refusing to make eye contact. "Eamon... the nobles... they all expect me to take a Queen one day and produce an heir and while that's something I don't want to do, I have to and... and..."

"Obviously, you cannot do that with me, can you?" Amell blanched.

"Yes. I mean, I want to, y'know, do that with _you_ but you're a guy and you don't have the... parts and-" Alistair let out a heavy sigh, "I'm sorry, but this won't work any longer."

"Why, Alistair? Why does this have to affect us? You can get married. I don't mind. Just don't leave me." pleaded Amell.

"You mean I should keep you as a secret lover? No, that won't be fair to my wife-" Alistair glanced at him for a moment before quickly averting his eyes again.

"And you think this is fair to me?" Amell nearly shouted.

Alistair kept looking away. "I'm marrying Anora after the Coronation. Eamon said that it would be best. I could learn from her and she could learn from me."

"Yes, Eamon this, Eamon that. Perhaps that old codger means to give you a leash as a Coronation or wedding present? You know, for being such a good little bit-" And Amell should have expected Alistair to slog him in the jaw. He heard some gasps and that was when he remembered his other companions were in the room too.

"Don't you dare talk about Arl Eamon like that! He's a good man!" Alistair was livid.

Amell slowly picked himself up from the floor, fingered the bruise and socked Alistair back once in the nose. And if he felt something breaking and a sort of liquid splattering over his fist, well, it wasn't his problem. Not any longer.

Amell stared at Alistair clutching his broken nose on the floor and felt a sardonic and slightly mad grin stretch his face, "And to think, I thought I actually meant something to you."

And in his rapidly spinning head where thought processes were flying at every direction, he realised that he didn't know if that statement was intended for Alistair... or himself.

Then he fled the room. He didn't know the layout and he didn't know where he was going, but he was swerving through corridors and evading servants and mauling several guards and he just didn't give a damn.

Leliana jumped up from where she was previously sitting, stunned like the rest of their companions throughout the exchange, shot Alistair a withering glare which promised much pain and bolted out the door to follow the Warden.

She swerved through corridors, evaded servants(and did not maul the guards, to their greatest relief) and found Amell sitting on the steps leading to the estate, face stoic and unmoving. She put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close to her. When he didn't respond, she whispered, "It's okay to cry, you know."

There was a brief pause before Amell muttered, "What's there to cry about?"

"I'll never forgive him for this."

"No," Amell shook his head, "It's not his fault. It's his duty after all."

Leliana sighed and sat – gracefully, of course. Orlesians did not clomp around clumsily like the Fereldans – beside him. She took out her harp and began playing a few notes, letting melodies, harmonies and words form in her mind. Song-writing was something that should never be forced. She kept on playing, time seemed to halt, and she sang with a bright, clear voice with just the right amount of vibrato:

Hands touch, eyes meet  
Sudden silence, sudden heat  
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl  
He could be that boy  
But I'm not that girl.

Don't dream too far  
Don't lose sight of who you are  
Don't remember that rush of joy  
He could be that boy  
I'm not that girl

Ev'ry so often we long to steal  
To the land of what-might-have-been  
But that doesn't soften the ache we feel  
When reality sets back in

Blithe smile, lithe limb  
She who's winsome, she wins him  
Gold hair with a gentle curl  
That's the girl he chose  
And Heaven knows  
I'm not that girl:

Don't wish, don't start  
Wishing only wounds the heart  
I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl  
There's a girl I know  
He has her so  
I'm not that girl

And when the music and Leliana's voice faded away, Amell realised he was crying. He gasped, shook and tried to stem the tears, but they just kept coming like a raging torrent that would never cease. Leliana hugged him to her again and he finally let the despair and defeat take over him. He didn't know how long he held on to her or how long his tears flowed; all he knew was that she was there and she was giving him strength.

He should have known fairytales didn't exist. There was no knight in shining armour. He thought he had finally found _the one_. It turned out to be a daydream – a fantasy – of an overly naïve mage, too emotionally involved and confused to see the truth for what it really was. The Amell of a year ago would have been appalled to discover that his future self actually thought that there could be something more. A King and a Mage? Hah! The romance stories he had read, with the happy endings and hot sex at the end? All bullshit. But he knew better now. Or at least he thought he did, as heaven knows he couldn't bear another mistake like this.

"One would think she'd sing a less depressing song." A sarcastic drawl, which could only belong to the one and only Morrigan, startled them.

"Oh, shush! I don't see you doing anything to comfort him!"

"'Twas comfort? It appears my definition of comfort requires severe revision." Morrigan ignored Leliana's glare of death and turned to Amell instead, who was busy rubbing away his tears and pretending that everything was fine. She sighed and her face softened, "That fool didn't deserve you anyway."

Leliana gaped for a moment and then gushed, "Oh, I knew there was some niceness deep down inside of you! You were just too embarrassed to show it!"

Blatantly disregarding Morrigan's protests that she was not, indeed, _nice_(and that word disgusted her to the very core), Leliana grasped Morrigan's and Amell's hands in her own and exclaimed, "Come, we must go shopping! We could get some nice shoes for Amell here! I know some good shoes always cheer me up. And we could get that dress I was talking about for ages for you, Morrigan!"

"No! I absolutely refuse to be seen-" And when Leliana paid her no heed. "Oh, you are as maddening as that fool Alistair!"

"Wait, wha-?" Amell spluttered. "What about the darkspawn and the Archdemon?"

Leliana chucked, "You're in no shape to be fighting anyway. Just look at you! Terrible! Besides, do you really want to see him again so soon? I thought so."

Amell knew it would be a long time before he would - could - forgive the man who unfeelingly took his heart and trampled it as easily as Shale crushing a bird. Whether he would be able to piece it back together... he didn't know. But he was strong. He didn't spend all those years of solitude under the ever-present watchful eye of the Templars(especially Cullen's, though he didn't know the reason to that too) in the tower to be undone by a man. An abomination? Sure. A demon? Definitely. But a man? No. And so despite the ache in his heart and the dull throb in his head, he knew, as assuredly as he knew his own first name(1), that he would one day get over Alistair. One step at a time.

---

It's funny what people do when they are sure they aren't being watched. Cullen stood still as a statue in the library, watching as Amell, crouched low and barely breathing, opened the library door with a small creak and sneaked inside hurriedly. He saw Amell sweep his eyes across the room before settling on him. Cullen froze. Did he know? When Amell's shoulders relaxed and he started moving silently again, Cullen relaxed too. Good, he was still hidden. The fact that there are statues of Templars around helped. Or of their armour, anyway.

Cullen's eyes followed Amell as he walked to the... romance section? Cullen may not always get people and their idiosyncrasies, but he was pretty sure that Amell would have nothing to do with the romantic fantasies love-sick mages often occupied themselves with. And he knew that because he was often not-staring at Amell. Definitely not-staring.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he focused on Amell again. Amell was now sitting at a table, perusing a book and oh, Maker, was that the most erotic book cover he had ever seen or what? He didn't even know there was such a book in this library! He felt his face flush and he wasn't sure if that was the only body part flushing because everything suddenly felt hot and sticky. Why was Amell reading those _things_ in the first place?

When a light blush coloured Amell's face and he started giggling softly to himself, Cullen thought he had died and passed on to the fade. Yes, that was it. He was being trapped by a desire demon! Cullen would have tried using Cleanse Area(the thought that this was real and using Cleanse Area would definitely blow his cover never crossed his mind, unsurprisingly), when Amell sighed softly and whispered to himself, "If only there was someone to take me away too."

And Cullen was not sure how he was able to hear that because wasn't he across the room just five minutes ago? When did he get so close to the mage? Now he was only a few metres in front of Amell, who clearly did not notice, and he wasn't sure who was the more oblivious one. Still, Amell's words hit him hard and he found himself unable to breathe properly.

_I could take you away._ And Cullen shoved that thought away before he did something incredibly stupid like actually saying it. He was a Templar and Amell was a mage. A _male_ mage. They had no reason to fraternise and anything more than bare acquaintanceship was nothing short of blasphemous. He vaguely wondered if the Chantry was still open because he really needed to beg for forgiveness and guidance right about now.

Amell sighed again and closed the book, pushing it to the edge of the table. He stared forlornly to the side(And when Cullen followed his gaze, he didn't really see anything interesting to look at), before getting up and exiting the library, not once looking back. Cullen didn't know what to think. On one hand, he was glad that he was able to see the one side of Amell probably nobody else knew about. On the other... Cullen mimicked Amell's sigh. When did life get so complicated?

And when Greagoir conducted a surprise check on his room a few weeks after and found the book with the most erotic cover ever, Cullen could only gape before fervently denying that it was his.

"It's the mage apprentices! They play pranks on me all the time!" stuttered Cullen, waving his hands in front of him, as if to ward off Greagoir's accusatory look.

Only in the silent moments of self-recrimination in his room did Cullen admit to himself that, yes, perhaps he did fall in love with a mage after all. A mage with a hidden and endearing romantic side to him. A mage oblivious enough to be unable to distinguish a Templar from a suit of armour. Even when said suit of armour managed to move across the room to stand in front of him. And perhaps at certain nights when he was feeling restless, hot and bothered, he did take out the book he 'borrowed' from the library and imagine it was he and Amell gallivanting across the countryside, doing every position mentioned in the Kama Sutra.

Amell. A _male_ mage.

Cullen buried his face in his hands. Maker forgive him.

**The End. Maybe.**

* * *

(1): Yes, this is intentional.

A/N: So I would have fleshed it out further, but I don't think anyone can take another retelling. :P In case some people are confused, the incident with Cullen happened before Amell left the circle.

Anyway, I hate my ending. I must have changed it over 9000 times already. Seriously. :( But I got stuck and this is the best I could come up with. Any reviews are appreciated. Constructive criticism is welcomed. Flames, if constructive, are welcome too. Just try not to be too mean or anything. I'm trying to get rid of my defensive streak. Yes, I do realise I overused mai ellipses. :P Yes, I love Cullen too. Hehehehhee. Haizz, I need a beta reader.

I hated Alistair in the break-up scene. Such a dick! There needs to be an option to punch his lights out. So I restarted my save and made Anora queen instead. Never regretted it. Human Noble Origin, here I come!


End file.
